


All Ancient Things Ask For Blood

by orphan_account



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: M/M, Multi, SO, Vampire AU, Werewolf AU, oh yeah takaaki isnt a dick, sorry if you like that content, thats not fair to those who want that for Prime Content, there's lowkey some hinting at Kiyotaka/Mondo/Toko but i didnt put it in bc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 13:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17366342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Your eyes,” He said, his voice soft with wonder, “They’re red.”“I get them from my father,” Kiyotaka chuckles, “and your eyes, they are lavender.”“I don’t know who I get them from.”“The violets, maybe?”A vampire!taka x werewolf!mondo fanfiction! It's a bit of historical fiction as well, however, I'm not super concerned with the factual sides of it.





	All Ancient Things Ask For Blood

**Author's Note:**

> TW:  
> \- brief mention of animal death  
> \- mentions of parental death
> 
> This fanfiction is HEAVILY INSPIRED by the story Carmilla by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu! As a lesbian myself I love lesbian literature and whats better than a homoerotic lesbian gothic fic that was made 20 years before Dracula? 
> 
> This fanfiction will _loosely_ follow the plot of Carmilla. If you'd like to know the basic storyline I heavily suggest the read! It's only about an hour read or so!

The castle they lived in sat nestled comfortably in the thick, luscious greenery of the Japanese forest, and despite not being beings of any inordinate amount of wealth - hardly any, if that - their castle was large. A strange mix between ancient Japanese architecture and European gothic from the middle ages. The child who lived within its sturdy walls never knew how strange such a structure was, he had only left his ancient dwellings rarely to visit the nearby villages and gain insight of modern news with his father. 

The castle itself had many rooms, each carrying their own spirit and atmosphere - his favorite, of course, being the study his father had built just for him. - And inside the tall castle were inhabitants of vast faces, characters, and expressions. Mostly none of which he truly cared to learn, as his heart resides with his Father, maid, and protector who lurks inside the castle halls. And yes, of course, his mother whom he lost so early on in childhood.  
Her portraits hang in every room as if to watch them all like the Orthodox icons he once saw on a trip to Moscow, eyes always watching for sin. There’s a sad tone to them, now, and at times the boy will see his Father stare at the portraits with a sense of longing he couldn’t quite place. And sometimes he’d call to his son and lift him as if he weighed nothing but a small pouch of grain, and then smile.  
_“She lives in you, Kiyotaka. You share her smile and intellect.”_ He’d always say.  
And the boy would always smile as if to prove his father right and say, _“And I have your eyes!”_  
His father would grin and bring him into a close embrace. And once after such a ritual, he had pulled out a gift hidden deep within his cloak.  
A book, wrapped in cow’s hide for a cover and its pages freshly printed, the child’s own named signed within its contents in permanent ownership  
_“To my dearest son and harbinger of my joys, Kiyotaka Ishimaru.”_  
Kiyotaka grinned brighter than ever that day and pulled on his father’s cloak till the old man would halt his tedious working to chase him into bed, tuck him in tightly and read the book allowed with a booming and commanding voice which was accompanied but exaggerated and comedic voices for each of the characters.

The housing itself was not the only peculiar thing within the realm of the quaint family. Yes, in fact, the child himself bears the same damning trait of his father. Crimson eyes.  
Being blessed with the name Kiyotaka, he was born as white as the snow-kissed ground which had blessed itself upon the Earth the day of his birth, had also possessed such crimson eyes that it looks as if a garden of eternal roses bloomed within them. His mother had deemed them an admirable trait. His father, however, knew the curse of such eyes and ordered for the slaughter of a mighty hog so that he may paint a symbol on his new son’s bare back with its blood, with that protecting him from evil, for their kind cannot use such holy methods brought to them with Europeans such as baptisms.

Kiyotaka himself was a bright child and was naturally gifted with the intelligence his mother had possessed before her untimely death. Often times he would slip out of his room when his nurse was fast asleep next to him and swiftly make his way to the study that always seemed to have enough space. There he would read accounts written by his grandfather and father and marvel at the sketches of the buildings, places, and characters they encountered on their trips over the world. His eagerness to learn brought him upon taking up the study of the Dutch language, so that he may read the trading books his father often brought back from the even rarer visits to the main cities. And though the language feels awful on his tongue - nothing like his native Japanese - he found it flowed beautifully when written in ink, despite the unnatural writing of their alphabet.  
His home was its own tower of Babel. His father, himself, his protector, and his close maid Kiyoko all spoke native Japanese; whilst his teacher and swordsman Gilbert spoke his own native German and one such butler spoke purely Swiss-german - oh how wonderful it was to see the two fight over proper grammar! - and for such reasons, Kiyotaka was gifted with the ability to change tongues rapidly.

 

Though the insides of the castle with its inhabitants were not the only thing to capture his attention nor his love. No, such things were the forestry and brush that surround his home with greenery and wildlife. There he practices his abilities and tries his own hand at sketching and documenting so that one day his great books will join his father and grandfather’s in an immortal copy of paper and ink. 

There is one such occasion that had happened during one of his trips that sounds so fictional that you must trust the narrator that she does, indeed, know the story she types and that she tells only the utmost truth within her words and signatures. And you must entrust her editor, who shares such knowledge and has sworn they would only say the truth, and only to correct the fictions in such a piece. 

The day had sunk away, the sun retreated to its home across the world and giving the sky to the moon. Kiyotaka - here he was only but the age of 8 - a child born of ignorance to ghosts and other things that make us fret the night, had found himself with the strange urge to ignore his curfew and trek into the wilderness his mother had once adored. Following his instincts, he moved blindly into the night, with only the moon’s gentle light to guide him, not that he would ever need it, of course, he knew every trail and twig in his path.  
Yet something lay amidst the softened dirt and it was of no fauna he had ever recognized.  
Slowly, his fingers gracing their presence upon the barks of the trees he passes, he makes his way towards the figure. 

He feels himself land hard on the ground, a boy none too older than he was - perhaps even younger - placed upon him and looking down at him with a look akin to a curious puppy.  
_“Your eyes,”_ He said, his voice soft with wonder, _“They’re red.”_  
_“I get them from my father,”_ Kiyotaka chuckles, _“and your eyes, they are lavender.”_  
_“I don’t know who I get them from.”_  
_“The violets, maybe?”_  
The boy let out a soft snort and the other felt at ease despite his tight grip. It is then he sees another set of unnatural purple eyes, these, however, did not carry the same pup-like atmosphere to them. Such eyes possess a storm of fury and the sound of snarls echoes through Kiyotaka’s brain, rattling through his head. 

With all such might a child of his kind could have, he screamed and cried. The creature, it seemed, is to have taken the boy with lavender eyes by his shirt before hurrying into the night, towards the moon, zapping the warmth from Kiyotaka’s body.  
It does not take long for his protector and his nurse Kiyoko to arrive, the aforementioned one cradled the fragile boy in her arms and wiped his tears with her soft and delicate hands. His protector scowled to herself and sniffed around like a beast and muttered curses that, if he were in the correct state of mind, he would scold her for. He explains to his nurse that he had seen a creature take a boy, however, his protector confirmed there are no tracks that have been made recently that would prove the boy had not suffered a delusion.  
_“The Moon,”_ Kiyoko sighed as she picked up Kiyotaka in her arms and kissed his forehead, _“Is responsible for dreams, as well as lunacy when she shines so bright as she does tonight, her force is one to be reckoned with.”_  
His protector had hummed her approval as they walked inside. Though the boy would not be comforted and could not be left alone even in the daylight. And, upon his own request and his father’s, his protector accompanied him in his room till he reached the age of 14 years, where he then deemed himself no longer afraid. 

However, the boy who shares the flowers in his eyes never leaves his mind into forgotten realms and each day he prays for him - as well as for his mother - that he is safe wherever he might be. And secretly, he prays that he may see him again.


End file.
